‘See if you can feel her heartbeat.’

‘Why me?’ Abby asks.

‘I’m not touching her boob.’

‘It’s not a grope. We need to know if she’s alive.’ She rests her palm on the woman’s chest while I wait in silence. ‘Nothing.’

‘Fuck,’ I exhale. ‘Holy fuck.’

Abby moves her hand to the woman’s belly. The rolling lump lifts her fingers like a wave pushing a board up and over. A shoulder maybe, or a foot. She jerks her arm back.

‘We need to get to a hospital. We’ll drag her up to the road, move the car closer. Charlie?’

It occurs to me that we didn’t check if there was anyone else in the car. I yank open the heavy door, haul myself up onto the front seat. There’s a bag on the floor of the passenger’s side but nothing and no one else.

‘Charlie!’ Abby shouts.

‘It’s not going to blow up. That doesn’t happen,’ I call back.

‘Come here.’

I clamber out and go to her side. ‘She’s alive?’

Abby is holding up the woman’s limp wrist. ‘Mum’s ring.’

‘No way.’ I frown at my sister. ‘How?’

‘I don’t know. Obviously.’

‘Obviously.’ I mimic her, knowing this is stupid. Even now, in a disaster, I can’t help myself.

Abby narrows her eyes at me. ‘A cleaner, a neighbour.’

‘Or Dad’s . . . no.’

‘We’d know if he was seeing someone.’ Her voice quiets at the end of her sentence. Then, as if it’s the next logical action, Abby tries to twist the ring off the woman’s finger.

‘Don’t do that, Abby.’

‘When you’re pregnant, you swell up and –’

‘Seriously, stop.’

‘Why, you think I’m hurting her?’ She starts to cry, and in her frustration tugs the ring hard enough to almost pull the finger out of its socket. I touch her arm but she shakes me off. ‘Got it.’

When she’s freed the ring she examines it, pushes it deep into her jeans pocket, and closes her eyes for a moment. ‘Okay.’ She wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘Okay. Let’s get her up to the car.’

‘Hang on. I need to think.’ I look away from her, into dark bushland dotted with anthill mounds. ‘Where would we take her, Abby? There’s nothing here, no hospital for miles.’

‘We’ll drive back to Chinchilla and find a doctor. Take her arm.’

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I’m not doing that. I’m not driving into some strange country town with a dead body. That’s a bad idea.’

‘What’s the alternative? You want to leave her here? Charlie, the baby’s alive. We can’t leave her!’

I scramble up to the road, drop into the driver’s seat and close the car door. I wait for what seems like an eternity – radio on, immediately off, glove box open, closed, looking for any distraction – before giving in to the fact she’s not following me.

By the time I walk back, she’s decided to drag the woman up the slope by herself, making small gains then sliding again into the ditch.